


Perspectives

by Maia2



Category: Ocean's (Movies), Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-27 22:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maia2/pseuds/Maia2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hunt takes Sam and Dean to New Orleans, only to find things aren't exactly what they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tricks

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this one morning in December 2009, after years of not writing. I'm sure you'll be able to tell, just figured I'd publish it anyway... Let me know what you think.
> 
> Timeline/Spoilers: O13 ; Supernatural S5, up to "Abandon All Hope". Sadly, I do not own any of the characters or universes.
> 
> Rated T for Dean's mouth...

**Chapter one: Tricks.**

Dean studied the man through the mirror from his perch on the bar stool. Tall, blond, fit, an engaging smile, self-confidence exuding from every pore. He was wearing a light tan suit, expensive by the looks of it - not that Dean was an expert, it just seemed to be. It was coupled with the most offending, shiny bordeaux shirt Dean had ever seen. And that was something, considering the pink-flowered atrocity Sammy liked to wear from time to time.

The man’s profile was turned to Dean as he expertly dealt the cards. Dean’s seemingly distracted eyes moved to the other four occupants of the table: A big, burly and loud southerner, complete with cowboy hat and boots who’d clearly had too much to drink already; an astute old and wiry man who was pretending he’d had too much to drink but was actually following the proceedings with acute intensity; a young, preppy guy, complete with light-colored vest with geometric print over a pastel shirt, slicked-back hair and a wallet bursting with daddy’s cash; and finally a tall, dark suave guy in his late forties, early fifties, cool, relaxed, light-brown hair with silver across the temples, dark suit, white open-collared shirt.

Dean’s eyes moved back around the classy room until they found his brother Sam, sitting at another table, not winning but not losing too much either, so as to not draw any unwanted attention. He noted his brother’s imperceptible shake of the head. The blond was good; Sammy had noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

Unless they caught him cheating, they had to stay on the case. And probably even if they did. Because there was the possibility that Bobby’s contact was right, that there really _was_ a case.

 

Dean heaved a sigh and bid his time. They’d received the call a couple of days earlier.

* * *

 

_They were cruising down I-55, AC/DC blasting out of the Impala’s speakers, partly because that was the way Dean liked it, partly to drown the heavy silence that had accompanied them since they left Bobby’s. Because really, it was Ellen and Jo, and how were they supposed to cope with it? Jo and Ellen were dead, had sacrificed themselves for their cause, to help stop the apocalypse, and all for nothing._

_So the phone call was a welcomed distraction and Dean lowered the volume and listened to Sam’s end of the conversation._

_“He said it was a …? Seriously?” … “Do you know how rare those are?” Dean smirked at Sam’s cringe, no doubt the term_ idgit _had figured in part of Bobby’s reply. “Alright, alright. Still, shouldn’t we be worried about other th-” This time it was Dean who grimaced at the insults audible even through his brother’s massive mop of hair covering the device. “Fine. Yeah… Okay, give me the details.”_

_Dean waited while Sam jotted some things down and raised an eyebrow at his brother when he finished the call. “I take it we got a job?” he asked needlessly._

 

_Sam proceeded to fill him in._

* * *

 

So here they were, in this posh bar room in New Orleans, having followed these two around for over a day.

They’d caught up with the pair at a casino the previous night, where they’d watched them do their rounds and collect money out of every table they sat at, every post they visited. They’d watched them move to another casino, never taking too much out of any game, sometimes sitting at the same table, some times each on their own, but always in sight of each other.

If anyone had paid attention, they might have read something different into it. Dean had played the game enough times with his brother to recognize it for what it was: watching each other’s backs.

The moment he’d noticed, he and Sam had split up; never tailing them together to avoid the pair to notice that same behavior on Sam and Dean. It came natural to them, and while most people would not see it, it was really hard to disguise from people with the same habits.

He’d arrived at this bar about an hour after Sam, the first time since the previous night he’d been in the same room as his brother.

 

They’d shared notes over the phone, though.

* * *

 

_“They did what?”_

_“Ordered seven different desserts from room service” Sam replied, exasperated. “I’m telling you, the blond one is worse than you, man. He ate them all by himself, while the other one sipped wine next to him on the couch.”_

_Dean smiled his appreciation; anyone who managed to skim money out of casinos and enjoyed food was at least somewhat okay in his book. “Sweet tooth, huh? Well that fits the profile,” he replied mulling it over “but what about the partner? These things aren’t usually the partnering kind.” He frowned, “Speaking of... what were they doing on the couch all night… and please spare me the details if it’s what I think it is.”_

_“Dude, get your mind off the gutter,” Sam prissed, “they were watching TV. And no, before you ask, I_ don’t _think it was porn. Something in black and white, though the angle was wrong for me to see through the window.”_

 _“You telling me these guys stayed there together, drinking wine and_ not _watching porn for four hours?”_

_“And eating dessert, don’t forget the eating. But ‘sright” Sam replied, the shrug apparent in his voice. “Then the blond one got up, grabbed something out of the minibar and left. Saw him get to his own room, write some things down in some sort of blueprints and go to bed. Stayed watching for a while, but they both seemed asleep to me.” His brother finished._

_“Why Sammy, if I’d known watching guys sleep was your thing, I’d have got a better pair of binoculars for you.” Dean smiled at his brother’s response. “Whoa, no need to get nasty. You’re the one who’s always all for diversity and shit.”_

_“So what are they up to now?” Sam asked, ignoring him completely. The jerk._

_“Blondie is devouring everything on the restaurant’s menu while the other one is watching him amusedly, eating a salad and drinking coffee. A lunch won by being the 10000 th customer to enter the place.” Dean said, bemused. “Oh, and this is after they somehow got the manager of the hotel to throw in their stay for free this morning, as they checked out. Plus a limo ride to whatever destination they wanted.” Dean shook his head. “And did I mention the stop at the Fair Grounds track on the way here? Where they proceeded to win at every race they bet on? I’m telling ya, Sammy, if they were cheating, it was the slickest, most perfect past posting I’ve ever seen. I never noticed anything. Plus, if they were communicating they must have used some sort of telepathy ‘cause I was watching and not even a twitch of the lips.” Dean frowned again. _

 

_“I didn’t want to believe it, not after the whole Gabriel fiasco. But this much luck? It just isn’t possible.” Sam said and Dean heard him sigh on the other end. “I’ll check the names of the casino owners from last night. You check anyone who lost something big at the tracks.” Dean nodded even though Sam couldn’t see him. It just made sense; these things had their own sense of right and wrong, a unique code of sorts that they adhered to. Checking the victims might help determine if they were following one. “Let me know when they move.” Sam added before hanging up, the keys on his computer already clicking away._

 

* * *

 

A conversation later had further convinced them they were on the right track: Sam had watched them con a loan-shark out of his entire cash load, while simultaneously incriminating him with a hot piece they’d lifted out of a common street thug who’d found himself without it when trying to rob a liquor store.

Both the thug – overpowered by a furious store owner and three customers – and the loan shark – after an anonymous tip to the police – had been arrested with enough evidence to put them away for a while.

 

So here they were in the posh bar, watching their marks going after marks of their own. Sam had watched them case them. Cowboy-hat was a known heavyweight in Orleans’ corrupt circles, having skimmed money out of Katrina relief funds though it had never been proved.

Preppy had a reputation for harassing freshmen girls at his school and getting away with it under daddy’s clout.

Old and wiry had just been unlucky enough to sit at the table, but from the looks of it, he’d already noticed this was not a table he wanted to stay at; Blondie having made sure he got enough signs when he thought only the man was watching.

Yup, as much as Sam and Dean did not believe this could be happening, it was starting to seem awfully clear: They ate a lot, specially sweet things and junk food – at least one of them did; They only went after people who deserved it and had fun at those people’s expenses – they were definitively having a great time and enjoying themselves; And they had an inexplicable run of good luck going their way.

Everything fit, and while there were still some questions in Sam and Dean’s minds, at least one of them perfectly fit the definition of a Trickster.

Dean had really disliked the last one of these they’d encountered, but it’d turned out to not really be a Trickster. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t really fault their logic and philosophy per se… he actually agreed with most of it. Still, it was Dean’s job, his responsibility, to hunt these things.

He sighed deeply and casually patted the stake inside his jacket pocket as he moved towards the table.

 

* * *

 


	2. Treats

 

**Chapter Two: Treats**

 

Rusty shuffled the cards expertly and watched the man at the bar from under thick eyelashes. Young –late twenties, early thirties-, around six feet, short light brown hair, nice build, ridiculously long eyelashes and intense hazel eyes watching Rusty through the mirror. He was wearing a dark suit, white shirt, non-descript tie. The clothes fit him perfectly and he carried them with confidence, though he’d seemed more at ease in that morning’s jeans and worn-out leather jacket; or last night’s layers of fabric for that matter.

Rusty’s gaze swept towards his table, taking in its four occupants: To his left, Dwight Jeffries in his unflattering cowboy attire – ‘ _Eyelashes’ by the bar would have done a much better job with these garments_ -;

Next there was an older guy pretending he didn’t notice something was not right at his table – _hopefully he’d taken the hints thrown his way_ -;

Then there was James Evans III, with his smug confidence and boring, respectable look – _now ‘Lurch’ at the other table would have been able to work this look beautifully_ \- ;

And finally, of course, Danny. Danny, who was rolling a glass of whisky in one hand and tapping distractedly on the table by his cards with the other, a “tell” designed solely to lure the others in.

He could see Danny’s eyes float to Lurch, hiding a bemused smirk at Rusty’s assessment and nickname for Eyelashes’ partner.

Lurch was, well… tall, around 6’4’’, in his mid twenties, broad shoulders, broody, chiseled features and a mop of brown hair that was a tad too long. Of course, unlike the famous butler, this one was very good-looking.

 

Rusty dealt the cards, making sure Danny would get the second best hand this time around and smiled brightly at some stupidity of Evans’, his mind going back to the start of the past week.

* * *

 

_“So…” Danny smiled, getting off the terminal and into Rusty’s rental, tossing his bag into the back seat. “New Orleans.”_

_“Yeah.” There was no need to say hello. There never had been._

_“Is this because of…”_

_“Nah, just…”_

_“Yup… figured.” Danny smiled again, handing over four airplane peanut bags. “We staying at the ..?”_

_“Of course.”_

_“Of course.”_

_“So how’s Tess?” Rusty asked smirking at Danny’s raised eyebrow. He could do polite. And out loud._

_“Says hi.” Danny replied. So could he. “Isabel?”_

_“Says to keep me out of trouble.” Rusty flipped a peanut into his mouth, grinning._

_It was their annual treat. Ever since the Bank job they’d started this tradition because, really, after that and the Benedict job, there weren’t that many places they could stay together at for long without drawing attention. They’d all kept a low profile, each in a different city. And that was fine._

_And yet, there was also the fact that they_ needed _this, the rush, the working together with the best, and fundamentally, the being_ them _._

_So once a year they took a week off and met in any random city they chose and they squeezed in as many cons as they possibly could. For obvious reason, none of the jobs were a big stretch, things that with time and a crew they could do with their eyes closed. So it was all about daring each other, one-upping each other. Danny picking out prospects, visualizing the impossible; Rusty bringing it down to earth. Both of them pulling it off._

_“So you wanna..?” Rusty offered, lazily._

_“What? On the drive from the airport?” Amused. Rusty said nothing. Danny shook his head, “You know that won’t work on me, Rus.” Rusty just kept on driving, not even acknowledging he’d heard. Danny sighed. “Fine, fine.” He looked out the windshield until he saw what he wanted. “Pink limo, two cars ahead. We need her luggage on the next plane to Cairo.” He raised a hand at Rusty’s expectant look – of course that presented no challenge at all-_. _“… on a plane to Cairo, minus at least two pieces of undergarment, which need to be worn by the owner as she struts through a restaurant in downtown Orleans…_ outside _the rest of the clothes.” He added, for good measure._

_“Motive?” There had to be one._

_“Pink annoys me?” No answer. “Saw her bump into an old lady on her way to the limo.”_

_“Oh, that’s just ...”_

_“Exactly.”_

 

_Rusty nodded. “So, does she need to be aware of the underwear and still walk around with it?” He laughed at Danny’s speculative look._ You couldn’t _. Oh yes, he could._

* * *

 

So here they were, in this posh barroom in New Orleans, working on not one, but two marks, because why waste a perfectly good poker game? And being followed by a couple of… actually he wasn’t sure what they were, yet.

 

They’d first noticed the two of them the previous night, at one of the casinos where they were running so many scams they almost lost track. Almost. At first it had been amusing, he’d even earned himself a few jabs from Danny when he’d dismissed Danny’s sign that he was being watched, but after all, people were always watching him, regardless of gender. And they had not been that overt about it, just a few glances their way, nothing out of what they normally got. Because if Rusty attracted attention, so did Danny. And yet it was nothing compared to what they got when they were together.

 

So they’d moved on to the next casino on the list, and when he saw Eyelashes again he’d known for sure they were being followed. He only saw him once in the second casino, but Rusty never forgot a face. Still, he didn’t know what was up, perhaps the guy just really wanted to ask him out. He’d even joked about it with Danny while having some desert in the hotel room. Danny had thought the guy was too pretty, Rusty disagreed. It had been an amusing discussion that derived into one on the advantages of internal combustion over steam engines, naturally, while they watched Casablanca.

Today, he only noticed because of the car.

* * *

_It was a thing of beauty. A black, shiny, 1967 Chevrolet Impala, parked around the corner from the hotel as they swept by in the limo they’d just been ‘lent’._

_He forgot all about it while he and Danny finished planning their morning at the Fair Grounds Horse track. They’d overheard a couple of hotshots bragging about the fixed races they were going to win the previous morning as he and Danny were crawling through the A/C vents of the NO Public Library._

_They had a lot of fun at the tracks; it’d been a while since they last did this kind of thing. It reminded Rusty of the early days with Saul._

_A few hours later, at the back of a little bistro where Rusty was fixing the counter to be the 10,000 th customer to walk into the door (Danny’d gone in already, and was keeping a lookout, to make sure Rusty’s fix would be used by none other than Rusty), he noticed the car again, on the side alley. As he walked in, and while being fussed at by the owners of the place and the cute little waitress for winning, he looked at Danny meaningfully. _

_As he sat down, a bowl of chips already in his hand, Danny said: “Well, if he’s just an admirer he’s off to break a new record.”_

_“So guy from…”_

_“Last night, yup.”_

_“Do you think he’s …?”_

_“No.” Yeah, guy didn’t look exactly like law enforcement. “Benedict?”_

_“Too discreet.” He watched Danny’s nod. “Yes, way too discreet for Bank as well.” He added, munching down his chips and smiling at the brunette who was bringing him all the first courses in the menu as part of his prize. “Should we..?” Rusty asked. He had to ask._

_“Not a chance,” was the even more obvious reply. “At the very least…”_

_“… find out who they are, yeah.” He finished, licking the remains of shrimp off his fingers, “So, about tonight…”_

 

_“Ah! Tonight.” And Danny smiled._

* * *

They’d spotted the other one during the afternoon. It had been a very productive one: not only had they managed to put away a couple of thugs, but they’d also finished casing the night’s two victims.

The Evans kid had been mere chance; they’d heard a girl complaining about the douche bag at the library – before the air ducts – and Rusty had charmed his way into getting the name and details. Jeffries was another story altogether. He was a scumbag who’d appropriated relief funds destined for the victims of hurricane Katrina.

So they’d studied their movements, decided their roles and set up the plan.

Because while the week was about the challenge, a great part of it was the planning; after all, any con – long or short-, you spent at least as much time in the planning and prep work as pulling the con itself. Plus, yes, thrill was important, but so was safety. Neither one of them was willing to risk the other. So the jobs had to be thrilling, they had little lead time, they had to be dangerous, but there also needed to be a plan.

While they were at it, they’d noticed Lurch, in all his layers of flannel. Kid was also good, but well, Danny and Rusty were conmen. It was their _job_ to notice things.

They still weren’t sure who these guys were. There seemed to be an air of danger about them, something dark that Rusty couldn’t quite put his finger on. They were very good together, he’d barely seen them glance at each other since Eyelashes had come into the room, and yet Rusty could tell they were perfectly aware of each other, and somehow communicating, watching each other’s backs. Nothing obvious; Rusty guessed he just knew the signs well.

Rusty nodded as the old man rose from the table, mumbling something about another commitment - smart man. His hands shuffling the cards never faltered as he watched Eyelashes stand up from the bar and start moving towards their table.

His eyes crossed Danny’s for a second. _Think we’ll get enough time to finish this one?_ Danny looked down, but not before Rusty caught the determination in them. Rusty nodded to himself. You just didn’t mess with Relief Funds.

He eyed Eyelashes – Dean, as he introduced himself -, a long, searching gaze. _Huh._ He quickly shot his eyes at the other two guys in the table and then back at Eye- _Dean_. The guy nodded.

_Huh._

Well, that was unexpected. So they were going to let them finish the con. He supposed it was good. Plus, it gave him and Danny more time to figure out what to do.

 

Especially since they’d both noticed there was some sort of bulk in Dean’s jacket. Bulks in jackets: never a good sign.


	3. Trick or Treat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. Thanks for reading!

 

 

 

**Chapter three: Trick or Treat?**

 

 

 

 

Dean glanced at Sam, a serious determined look on his face. Blondie – Dean knew from Bobby’s contact he went by Robert, he just didn’t look like a ‘Robert’ to Dean – had looked at him and fucking asked for permission to finish the con. Well, maybe asked for permission wasn’t exactly it, but he’d read the offer in the guy’s eyes. And Dean had agreed. And it was kind of wrong; you did not enable one of these things. He knew Sam was going to give him a hard time about double standards and morality and shit. Hell, _he_ would give himself the speech. And yet, they’d been non-violent all day long, and from the little research they’d been able to do, it had been the same all week. And mostly, at the end of the day, Dean just could see nothing wrong with whatever was coming for Preppy and Cowboy-hat. He just needed to make sure it did not get out of hand.

He could do that.

* * *

 

Danny took the cards and looked at them without seeing. He didn’t need to, and while his concentration seemed to be solely on the game, his mind was working overtime, trying to figure out a way out of this.

He still couldn’t believe Rusty had gone there, had actually –silently- told the guy they’d be finishing this one first. Well, he could. Rusty was… Rusty. And it was all Danny’s fault. Rus had asked him; they could have just up and left. The fact that they both knew they wouldn’t was superfluous.

He did not know what had surprised him more, the guy’s apparent acceptance or the fact that he’d actually understood Rusty’s silent request; definitely not one of Benedict’s or Bank’s thugs.

He was surprised again when the guy – he’d introduced himself as Dean – folded. He raised his eyes to Rusty’s, and could see the invisible shrug. Rusty had dealt him a winning hand; the guy had acknowledged the test and retreated. This was their show; he was really not going to interfere.

_Huh._

* * *

 

Sam twisted in his seat, impatient. He was glad he was playing this one as an inexperienced poker rookie, so he didn’t have to hide his nervousness -which had nothing to do with the game. What the hell was Dean doing? He knew damn well they were not going to do anything in here; the place was full of people. Why would he approach them? Not only approach them but – unless they were completely stupid, which Sam doubted – tip them off. It was like Dean was offering them a chance. And that wasn’t like his brother. Dean was all “If it’s a monster, you kill it.” No grayness about it. Especially with a trickster. Sam could still remember the last argument they’d had over one of these things, pointless as it’d later turned out to be.

No, Sam didn’t like this one bit. Plus, they still weren’t sure about the other one. The mysterious, charming older one of the pair. There was just something strange about the guy; like he was not completely from this world. Neither was the blond one, but that was common with a Demi-god. Sam was just not sure what to make of these two.

Sam’d spent the night, after they’d gone to bed, doing research on lesser gods, but he’d found no lore about them hanging-out together like this.

Yes, Sam was really uneasy with it all. They needed to know what the second one was, in order to figure out how to kill it. He wished his brother would still remember that was the reason he was here, to try to gather more info.

He sighed. Of course Dean remembered. He just wished his brother had given _Sam_ some sort of warning, before going ahead and warning _them_.

* * *

 

Rusty watched Jeffries squirm with the utmost pleasure. Well, if only there wasn’t a little pesky problem called Dean sitting at the table, the pleasure would have been complete. Though he had to admit the guy was alright… for someone that had been following them with ill intentions for the past day. But seriously, it was obvious he was a player, a hustler. He knew how to play the table and that was why Rusty had changed tactics once Dean had approached the table. Rusty had made the offer, the guy had taken it.

And they were actually having fun. Evans had already fled, having lost all the money he was carrying, plus his precious college ring and a lot of money borrowed from daddy’s account, and most importantly, having done so in the presence of two of his school’s biggest gossips.

They were finishing the last touches on Jeffries, one and a half hours later. Most of the patrons of the bar had already left, and those who hadn’t – including Dean’s partner-, were standing around their table, watching the outrageousness of the bets. Both Dean and Rusty had already bet and lost to Danny, the deeds to their respective houses – which if Dean’s was anything like his own, Danny’d just won two whole lots of air in inexistent parts of the country – which Danny had riding on the current hand, in addition to a bunch of bonds and his interest in a fake multinational company. Jeffries could not believe he was losing, so he’d gone all in. Deeds, bank accounts, cars, the whole nine yards.

He caught the flash from Danny’s eyes. Yup, now all they had to do was figure out how to lose their unwanted company.

* * *

 

It was later, and they were in a back alley, having made sure the relief funds were on their way to the rightful owners. Dean was still amazed at the skill and ease of it all. Not only had they won a whole lot of money from a bad guy to donate it back, but they’d done so in front of witnesses and with so much charm there hadn’t even been anger, or harsh words. Just big smiles. If it weren’t for the fact that they were monsters –or Gods, not much difference in Dean’s book - he would really like these guys.

He looked over at Sammy, escorting them on the other side and then back at the one called Daniel who was talking, all charm and reason.

“So I guess now that that’s out of the way, you guys want to tell us who you are and what you want?”

“Why don’t you start?” Sammy said gruffly.

“You’ve been following us around, I’d say you know more about us than we you.” Blondie said, non-challantly.

“We you?” The older one looked at him, “Did you just say ‘we you’?”

“What? It’s an expression.”

“Is not.”

“Totally is. Remember in that…?”

“Oh, she did not say that, she said..”

“Not her. The other one.”

“Huh. Still, doesn’t mean you can just...”

Dean looked at his brother, Sam looked back at him. “It’s not going to work, you know.” Dean interrupted, getting the pair’s attention. “We’ve done that too. You’re not going to distract us with this.” Dean frowned, for a minute there he could have sworn he saw a pout in Blondie’s mouth. He shook his head. “My name’s Dean, this is my brother Sam and we’re Hunters, so why don’t you guys cut the crap and we can finish this off once and for all? I kind of like you guys, so if you tell us what he is,” he motioned at Daniel with his head, “we’ll finish it off quickly, no hard feelings.”

* * *

_Hunters?_ What was that supposed to mean? Nope, Danny was as much at a loss here as he was. He caught Danny’s ‘Oh, what the hell’ look and sighed internally.

“Name’s Danny. That’s Rusty.” Danny added with a nod towards him. “And I am pretty sure there are no outstanding bounties on our heads, so clearly this must be a case of mistaken identities.”

Dean chuckled, “Dude, come on. Seriously?”

The tall one, Sam, recited “You go by Robert Ryan and Daniel Ocean. We got your descriptions – and not many people would fit them- plus the exact place where to find you from an informant.” He paused, looking at them. “We’ve been following you around, we’ve seen you in action, seen the signs.”

“Look, whoever this informant was, clearly he’s got something wrong.” Danny hastily added, sensing Rusty’s indignation. “All we’ve done is play a little poker, gamble a little. Nothing wrong with that.” Certainly nothing anyone would put them in jail for. Rusty supposed he should be glad the ‘hunters’ hadn’t caught up with them the day before. That would have been a little trickier to explain.

“Right.” Dean was saying, voice full of sarcasm. “And there’s nothing supernatural about it. About your surprising string of good luck or the way you guys are.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” Rusty answered readily. There was definitely something special about Danny and him, though it beat the hell out of him what that had to do with anything. Danny glared at him. Right, right, focus on getting out of this.

“So what if there is? Since when is it a crime to have good luck? Or to help it a little?” Danny looked at the brothers pointedly. “Not like you haven’t done the same thing.”

Rusty had the satisfaction of watching Sam blush a little and a corner of Dean’s mouth twitch.

So maybe Danny would find a way of talking them out of this. As usual.

* * *

 

“Not the point.” Dean said, trying to stifle the smirk. ‘Cause he definitely had done the same thing, ‘twas how he – they – made their living. Not like hunting was a paid job.

“Then what is?” Danny countered. “Because I am a bit confused here. You obviously approve of what we did, or you wouldn’t have helped. And no one got hurt.”

And that was true. They could not find a report of mysterious deaths or people injured under unusual circumstances for the entire past week. Nor did they find any for the previous jobs Bobby’d been told about.

“So why would this person send us to hunt you down?” Sam asked and Dean knew they were getting to his brother too. The tone had been curious, rather than accusatory.

“Other than the fact that one of you is a trickster and who the hell knows what the other one is, of course.” Dean had to add, just on principle. He watched an odd look of surprise at the term cross Rusty’s face. He guessed the guy just wasn’t used to people calling him by it to his face.

“I wouldn’t know.” Danny answered, honestly. “We’ve collected our share of enemies over the years. Perhaps if we knew who your informant was, we could figure out why he or she did it.” He spread his hands. “Look, trickster, hustler, what does it matter? We are doing good things here. And if we get a little richer or have a little fun while we’re at it, then all the better, right?”

And Dean did see the point. And perhaps two years ago, it wouldn’t have made a difference, but in a world with douche bag angels and a pending apocalypse this did seem a bit pointless. He knew his brother had already been sold at the ‘doing good’ bit. He still needed to add, for good measure. “So what? We supposed to just let you go? Trust in the goodness of your hearts?”

“Uhm… Yes?” It came from Rusty, with the bright eyes and dazzling smile. Dean looked at his brother who was giving him the puppy dog eyes. Not fair.

He gave up. “Oh, what the hell. Fine.” The smiles he got were blinding. He didn’t feel completely comfortable with it, so he added, making sure they both got the seriousness of the threat, “We ever hear you’ve hurt anyone? There won’t be a place on earth – or out of it – you’ll be able to hide from us, understood?”

He watched Rusty and Danny nod their agreement. Good.

* * *

 

“So, what do you make of it?” Sam asked his brother, watching the city disappear in the mirror.

“Dude liked my car.” Was the simple answer. Sam smiled.

~ x ~

 _They were shuffling uncomfortable in the alley. Neither of them sure what the protocol was after you decided_ not _to kill someone._

_“So…” Sam started._

_“So.” Was Danny’s reply. “I guess it’s back to our hotel. It was interesting meeting you guys.” Only the slightest of hesitations before the word interesting._

_Dean nodded, starting to turn away, when suddenly Rusty piped in: “Can we get a ride?”_

_Sam looked at his brother in disbelief, then at Danny, surely the guy must realize asking for a ride from people who were just minutes ago out  to get you was not the smartest thing. But he was surprised to see only an affectionately indulgent smile in the man’s face._

_Dean finally got his voice back, “Come again?”_

_“Well, we took a cab here, and you got that gorgeous ’67 Impala, dontcha?” Rusty smiled compellingly then turned to Danny, “It’s soooo pretty!” Sam rolled his eyes, knowing the answer. Yup, praise Dean’s baby and you were in._

_Five minutes later and not only were they driving these two... beings around, but Sam had found himself in the back seat, because Rusty wanted to feel the engine closer or some such bullshit. He gazed at Danny, sitting silently beside him. Clearly not as excited about the car, but seemingly content with watching his… friend – and as weird as the concept was when speaking of supernatural beings, there was no other word for it, they were obviously friends – enjoy the experience. Sam couldn’t contain himself: “Don’t you hate it when he, like... coos about an inanimate object?”_

_Danny raised an eyebrow at him, understanding perfectly well he wasn’t talking about Rusty. “If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be your brother.” He said simply and went back to watching the men in the front seat discuss incomprehensible engine talk._

_Sam blinked and sat back, looking out the window, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips._

_~ x ~_

“So who do you think called Bobby?”

“Guess we’ll never know.” Dean shrugged, then shook his head and changed the subject, never one to dwell on things. “So where to next?”

Well, they had the devil walking the earth wanting to use Sam as his vessel; a fallen angel somewhere with Dean’s amulet trying to find God; and an archangel gunning for his brother’s hide and no idea where any of them were. Sam shrugged, “Does it make a difference?”

* * *

 

“Seen the signs? He said they’d ‘seen the signs’. There were _no_ signs.” Rusty exclaimed suddenly, focusing on the most important part of the night. He turned to Danny. “There _were_ no signs, right?”

Danny looked at him, serious. “There were no signs.”

“Good.” He sighed. “Okay, that has to be the most bizarre encounter we’ve had. Ever.” Rusty added, trying to peel off the metallic wrap of the chocolate bar with one hand, the other busy driving towards the airport.

“Even weirder than..?” Danny asked, taking the bar from him, un-wrapping it and giving it back.

“Oh, yes, definitely.” Rusty bit into the chocolate and sighed, content. “And what was with all the weird references to the out-of-this-world and the supernatural?”

“You asking me?” Danny shot him a disbelieving look. “There was a point I wasn’t sure we were speaking the same language, there.”

“And was that a…?”

“…stake under Dean’s coat?” Danny finished for him. “Yup. That it was.”

“A _stake_.”

“Uh huh.”

“Huh.” Rusty’s brow furrowed for a second. “You know what’s weird, though? Well, weirder. They didn’t seem to be…”

“..Completely crazy? I know.” Danny nodded. “Still.”

“Yeah.” Rusty agreed. Then he grinned.

“What?”

“Next year is your choice.” Rusty’s grin got even bigger, if possible.

Yup, it was definitely going to be tough for Danny to choose any place that would beat this experience. He briefly wondered if flights to the moon were available, then silently cursed himself when he saw Rusty’s hopeful eyes turned his way.

Oh, it would be an interesting year.

* * *

 

_A mansion by Lake Como, Italy._

 

The wiry, athletic man cursed in five different languages after hanging up the phone. He cursed the man on the other end, he cursed the so-called hunters and most of all he cursed Daniel Ocean and his friend Ryan.

He’d been so sure this time, he’d done his research, bought or stole all the rare books on the occult until he could find the things that could best describe Ocean’s and Ryan’s … existence so that these people would buy into it. He’d tracked Ocean until he was sure he was at their annual thing. He’d fed it all to that Bobby guy –and had _he_ been hard to find-, who’d just now assured him –with a few expletives mixed in – that he’d sent the best hunters in the world after them, and that if they decided it was a no, then it was a no.

He took a deep breath, dismissed all the ancient books and the supernatural and looked at his next options. The Night Fox never gave up.

There was that drug cartel, but that was no good. He didn’t want traditional methods; he wanted to defeat them, to get them in an unexpected way.

He read the transcript of a recording that had intrigued him in the past. Perhaps he should look into it more deeply. As he meditated on this and other options, the paper slipped his hands and fell to the floor, mixed up with other papers already there. One line was still visible:

“ _If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire: The A-…_ :”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. Ocean's 11 world is not the first thing that comes to mind when you think of the supernatural, but then... it really is just a matter of perspectives... isn't it? It's otherhawk's and In Silva's fault, really. Thank you all for reading! (and I am always interested to read whatever you want to comment about this)


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